Social media, the repository of truths.
“Please. I hardly know her. We just work together.”
She wanted so much to believe him.
Buried, untagged, on Facebook: “Hey, you’re too pretty. Let’s hang.”
“Everyone stayed for drinks after shift but,” shrug, “she’s not my type.”
Her Instagram, photo of a beachy sunset: “Awesome evening, awesome guy.”
“Now you’re just being crazy.”
Text while he’s in the shower, lit on his screen for the world to see: “Hey sexy. Can’t wait to meet up!”
“Babe, I’d never lie to you.”
She wipes a tear; she takes back his key. “You already did.”
This is darker and more twisted than I usually write, but I like it. Limit 100 words with prompts that don’t really make a difference here.
Terrence, I’d heard his mommy call him before she sat down with her coffee and her phone.
So simple. Like ordering from a catalog.
Fishing line’s best for binding hands and feet. Fifty pound test won’t break and wriggling cuts easily through a child’s skin. He’s still soon enough.
Treated him same as I had my own, but he was no more special than the others. Too soon his bright blue eyes went dark. That night I pitched his sack over the railing and watched it sink in the current.
I have faith. I’ll find the one.